Youth
by archer hates you
Summary: As Levi struggles with personal issues, he takes it upon himself to teach his young squad about growing up. Spoilers for the manga in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Without a real objective, she found herself drawn here on instinct. She did not like Levi personally; the image of limbs wailing against Eren's helpless body, sunlight edging their blurred silhouettes like beautiful, awful sculptures, the gallery silent save the terrible cracking of leather against skin—it was difficult to overcome. After some convincing on Eren's part she was able to appreciate the true function of the act, which she might have seen at the time had she not been blind with panic. And when he reminded her that the nature of his power had been a complete unknown at the time, she even acknowledged the courage it took for Levi to stand unarmed in front of that audience and risk the appearance of an intelligent titan in a den of idiots.

And still her reaction to the man was uncrontrollable. Like an animal she tensed when he came near, poised to attack—though her predator never went on the offensive, his glances only grazing her dismissively. Her disposition had softened in the weeks they'd spent at Survey Corps HQ, settling into their new teams; merging with the veterans offered another, less conservative perspective on the captain, and almost unwillingly sh began to believe that he really was the strongest among them.

But in those few weeks, Levi had changed—undramatically, but she had spent such time warily awaiting his every move that she was sensitive to changes within him. His confidence had declined, worry causing deeper creases around his eyes. In passing she mentioned this change to Eren, who of course hadn't noticed, feebly offering the upcoming expedition outside the walls as an explanation. The boy's lack of concern irritated her. She had already come to accept Levi as a kind of safety barometer; his now wavering persona frightened her, and she felt an irresistible urge to know what was on his mind. So here she was, standing next to his closed door, back and fingertips pressed against the wall of a night-dark hallway.

Knowing he'd never answer (or at the least, never let her in), she decided not to knock for permission. She grasped the handle, allowing it to rattle just a bit, and rapped lightly to announce her presence before cracking the door. Tentatively she peeked around the edge to see him still, hunched on his mattress. He didn't look up. "Heichou?"

"What do you want?" he breathed, motionless.

Widening the gap in the door, she gripped the knob hard for support, stood up straight. "I don't want anything."

"By that I mean, no visitors." His voice teetered low, strained and insistent, and she could hear the beginnings of bared teeth.

Pretending that hadn't scared her, she silently closed the door. "You're sitting in the middle of the bed with your head in your hands."

He shook his head, barely disturbing the fringe of his hair. "Please leave."

"Why?" Her heart jumped up in her throat, astonished at her own boldness.

Finally he lifted his eyes, unseeing in their sternness. His tone was calculated, lilting, making damn sure she swallowed every syllable. "Because you're pissing me off, and it's causing me terrific distress."

She sank down next to him, somehow maintaining a semblance of control. Too near him, clearly; the air around him buzzed kinetically, as if set aflame. "I wanted to see how you were faring."

"Dandy." His eyes pinched closed, and he pressed his fingertips around the bridge of his nose. Was it a headache, or was he ignoring her?

Since she'd begun this journey of impertinence, all reservations had fallen away and what remained were only those unknown tasks her heart had set out to accomplish. Brain decided to trust body—and at the instant of that performative thought, divorcing movement from reason, her body thought it best to take Levi into her arms.

He didn't jump, didn't lash out at her; he was just still. Her chest pounded, the blood it pumped through her certainly audible above her shallow breathing. Too dumbfounded to divine his mood, she could only observe the limp arms at his sides, the cool skin of his neck under her burning, anxious hands. Was he displeased? Angered? Alright? Was his heart freezing over? Would he just _say anything damn it_? Frustrated at his indifference she said, "At least yell at me—" but at the same time his back weakened and he slumped into her, cheek cushioned exhaustedly against her shoulder.

Her arms tightened around him.

After a precious few moments he sat up again, loosening her grip on him, as he rubbed at his eyes for want of sleep. Mikasa was relieved at his lack of expression but wanted desperately to know what he was thinking. She did not see his face as a whole, but as parts that flitted in and out of her vision: the corners of his downcast eyes, the curve of his cheeks, the hidden ridge of his hairline behind loose bangs. As she was beginning to come to terms with the sensations in her gut, her impatient body pressed her lips, unbidden, against his, sending a shock of nerves painfully through her center.

He didn't seem surprised, which was aggravating, but she couldn't stop herself; lightly at first, several soft, small kisses that barely made contact, gradually prolonging without encouragement or refusal from him. Her skin was on fire but he wasn't moving and it made her _mad_. "Don't be so cold to me."

For a moment her heart stopped as he looked at her with that unemotionally pensive face. His eyes were still on her as his lips caught hers, and she positively jumped at the ambush; his kiss felt neither dispassionate, nor was it executed without care or unfeelingly. Mikasa pulled back, because even in the dim candle light, he would know by the heat of her skin how she blushed.

"Why?" he drawled.

She watched the lines of her palms, undulating nervously in her lap. His question could have been in response to any number of things she had said or done; she came with no concrete reason to begin with, so there was little to tell. _Why?_ "I think . . . I'm the only one who can understand you."

Failing to look at him directly, still she was sure his eyes narrowed in condescension. For an instant she hated him, but then, gently: "So it's pity."

"_No_. . . ." Now she felt control truly slipping. What business did she have here if she couldn't explain herself? "It's just that . . . I think you're the only one who can understand me." Was that right? Did she really think that?

He just sat there, his body expressionless. "I _don't_ understand you."

She shook her head without looking at him; her hands circled his wrists as she kissed him again. In this imprisonment he became more aggressive; she felt him come alive, electric in his skin, and her viscera melted when he wrested her mouth open with his to slowly, softly, let his tongue inside. A plaintive moan escaped her throat but she broke away, needing to breathe more heavily than she actually breathed.

"Something wrong?" he asked monotonously. This was evidently the most considerate thing he could manage, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

Mikasa stared into the blackness of her closed eyes, grasping desperately for composure. Her skin tingled when a rough hand tenderly brushed her hair aside. She forced herself to stand, away from him, for breathing room. "You're just . . . really good at that."

Quietly and absent of accusation, he said, "How would you know?"

Her eyes went wide. _Was it that bad?_

He frowned. "Just an assumption." This displeased her. How did he always know everything? "You cleave yourself so strongly to that monster that no one would dream of coming near you."

"You did."

"Not so. You invaded my quarters, if I recall."

She leaned before him again, threateningly pressing her palms against his thighs. The muscles twitched as his legs shifted slightly, and she imagined them pressed against her own. Without realizing it her fingers had slipped under the harness belts across those thighs, bringing her one layer closer to him. How was this happening? Could she do this and continue hating him? She went to kiss him again, and his hand came to rest thrillingly high on the back of her leg. In direct response her fingers began fiddling with the fasteners against his body, but in one motion he grabbed her hips, lifted her aside, and stood, fists at rest against his waist. "This is going to stop."

Slowly awakening from her daze, she wasn't confused as much as frustrated. Did he not understand what it took for her to come here, the feelings she had overcome? Could he not understand this expression of her forgiveness? "Why?"

"Let's count the ways," he said, clearly exasperated. "I'm your superior. I'm too old for you. I'm too old for this. And I don't believe you."

_Belief?_ What was there to doubt?

"If you're serious, come back to me in a week." He thought for a moment; "Two weeks."

She stood up too, even at her height failing to feel imposing before him. "You need me to be _serious_? That seems irresponsible in this day and age."

Casually he ambled across the room and plopped down into a chair. "What a short-sighted thing to say." He sat with his hips lazily forward, one leg slung coolly over the other, and it took all her focus not to look not to look _not to look_ and was that a grin on his face? "Give it some time. Three weeks. You'll cool on me by then."

What was he doing? What happened to the worry around his eyes? When had his confidence returned? How could he reduce her to a ball of hormones in a matter of moments, then just as quickly retreat? How could he be so disinterested? Did he not feel the pressure of impending death? "Who knows what'll happen to us _'by then'_?"

"There it is. Why I don't believe you."

"So you think I'm just desperate?"

"I don't even think you know why you—"

"You think I haven't been looking at you for weeks already?"

He tilted his head quizzically; she again hid her face with her hair, embarrassed to have admitted it to _herself_. Now she had to face it: over time her observations had indeed transitioned out of a scholarly pursuit, into something more . . . selfish.

"I'm not looking for commitment," he said gingerly.

"Aren't you?" she challenged. "Not moments ago you said I needed to be serious."

"You misunderstand me. I would need you to be an _adult_." It didn't seem possible but her skin indeed flushed further, because she was indeed behaving childishly. "It's not that I want commitment. I'd _like_ to be able to fuck someone freely, preferably without the threat of them getting offed right after." Hatred and sadness melded into disdain in his face. It struck her that losing friends, subordinates, hurt him just as badly as losing loved ones. "Can you blame me?"

She couldn't. Even in the absence of romantic feelings, sex was an emotional investment to him. "But you're not immune to death, either." She stood over his chair, slipping a hand into the collar of his shirt; that feeling in her gut returned as his eyes drifted closed in response to her nails raking gently across his neck. "And I didn't ask for commitment anyway."

"Yet you've waited so long to approach. Vetting, perhaps?"

"Apparently you would have made me wait anyway."

"I can't give you what you want," he said indifferently.

"I know I'm in no position to ask for commitment. Not from anyone, least of all you."

"What does that mean?"

"You're too fragile to just hand out trust like that, I know that."

"_I'm_ fragile?"

She leaned down with a kiss, her only weapon against him, combing her fingers roughly through his hair. His head swayed slightly; objectively he was enjoying this, but he didn't succumb.

Or at least, she didn't think so. "One week," he said.

"I won't stand it that long."

"Four days, then."

She stood straight. "Fine. I'll see you in three days."

"_Four_," he called after her, but she was already out the door, pressing tears into her sleeves. Because she knew he lied.


	2. Chapter 2

Erwin appeared to be mid-knock just as Mikasa threw open Levi's door. Without so much as a glance at her commander she stormed away and out of sight.

Levi emerged, yawning. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked his new guest, apathetic.

"You wanted to talk to me."

"Now?"

Erwin pointed vaguely down the hall. "You're not going to acknowledge that?"

Levi shrugged.

"Then, what's she doing coming out of your quarters at this hour?" he asked pointedly.

"Propositioning me."

The man frowned in curiosity. "What happened?"

"Did she look satisfied to you? I told her to slow her roll."

"You refused?"

"We struck a deal. If she doesn't die on patrol within the next four days, she can do as she pleases with me."

With the swiftness of a snake striking, Erwin put on his danchou face, authoritative and soulless. "You know I cannot let you do that." He even seemed to loom larger in the doorway, like a cobra fanning its hood.

Levi raised an eyebrow at the display. He'd seen it before, but rarely was it directed at him. "Don't sweat it, hoss. I'm not serious. I just need time to think about what to say."

"You say 'no'."

"Yeah. Well." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall to allow Erwin space enough to duck through the doorway. "I should get a goddamn medal either way. It's been a _really_ long time."

"That's hardly my fault."

"We can't _all_ be celibate as saints," he said, venomous.

Erwin smirked patronizingly and set his hands low on his hips, tempering his stance. "You're going to have to deal with this. She's not going to die. You know that, right?"

Levi glanced distantly through the open door, down the hall where Mikasa had fled. "Prove it."

He couldn't. "She may just come kill you instead."

"A most fitting end to mankind's finest soldier, wouldn't you agree?" He plucked a bottle of liquor from atop his dresser and offered Erwin a glass. "Compared to titans."

They each took a shot, and as Erwin hissed through his teeth Levi poured a second for him. "And what of the expedition? That's _five_ days out yet."

"I know."

"Now that you've left her hanging, she gets a few days to dream. What if you get killed?"

"I won't."

"You might."

"I won't, though. Not on this one."

"Trust me, you might. How will that make her feel?"

"Nothing I haven't felt before."

Erwin nodded, relenting. "You're a cold man, Levi."

Then, with full awareness: "That's what she said. Look, what more can I do beyond what I'm already doing? It won't get any worse."

"It might."

"It _won't_ though, _fuck_ you."

Erwin downed his second drink. "It _was_ quite the poorly-timed confession, on her part."

"I doubt that was her original intention, but might as well take the chance if she thinks there is one. Smoke 'em if you got 'em," he hummed, tipping his glass in Erwin's direction. "I hear shit got pretty explicit regarding survival rates at that graduation ceremony."

"Oh, graphic, at best."

"So if anything this is most assuredly _your_ fault for convincing those kids that they'll bite it on this expedition."

"They could have walked away. I'm fairly certain I told them to."

"You have been known to bring in the crazies."

"Present company excluded, I take it."

"_In_-cluded, thank you," Levi said, draining his own second shot and preparing their third. "Tch. You think that was poorly-timed? Boy, have I got news for you."

* * *

><p>In a way he admired Erwin for suppressing his feelings and urges in service of the job, but to Levi it seemed silly not to just get laid once in a while. There could be no harm, if the consenting party were an adult with no expectations.<p>

But he was starting to understand Erwin's philosophy, because he was starting to have expectations. Whether this made him more or less adult, he wasn't sure. Maybe he was getting soft as he aged, but it was becoming more and more difficult to divorce people from their inevitable deaths. He'd managed to draw strength from his fallen friends rather than submit to survivor's guilt by keeping them at a safe distance. Much closer, and the losses would start to break him. He was certain he shouldn't keep relationships with people he couldn't trust not to die. And he didn't trust the girl.

It was considerate of her to think of him, to worry about him as she did. And if he were honest with himself, it did feel good just to be held. But she'd gotten carried away, conflating empathy and love.

And boy, something in her must have seriously snapped to have chosen _Levi_. Her first real impression of him was probably his kicking the shit out of her little boyfriend, and that was hardly a month previous. What was that old saying? Something about sticking one's dick in crazy? Oh right; not to.

It wasn't as easy as just telling her _no_. This was a horny teenager, and one he'd likely have to work with in the near future. Breaking her spirit would do no good for anyone; he wasn't about to emotionally damage one of the few in the running to take his place.

Not to mention, she was still so goddamned _young_. He remembered what it felt like to be that age: the superimportance of every relationship, the overanalysis of every event, the unreasonably strong trust in one's own underdeveloped judgement. The world around them was indeed crumbling, seeming to legitimize their natural feelings of urgency and import—but it didn't justify those feelings that arose out of hormones alone.

And her feelings—nothing more than a first crush on an admired superior. No doubt she'd been told countless times how her skills so closely matched his; it was natural that she'd look to him, watch him, and as a man who bled self-confidence, that she'd desire him.

He felt sorry for what little they had already done, but hardly guilty. She was mature enough at least to make her own decisions about kissing. And _he_ couldn't be expected to resist advances like that a hundred percent. The frequency and intensity of adrenaline he experienced most certainly affected the general state of his mind and body. His senses were by default aroused, and of course he had knee-jerk reactions to overstimulation of those senses. Did he kiss her back? Fuck yeah he did. Would he fuck her? He could never be so cruel. Everything at her age had too much meaning, let alone sex; it would be unfair to her if it amounted to nothing more than physical gratification for him.

Besides, teenagers were _terrifying_. Not in a million years would he be so daft as to let himself get dragged into the web of their drama. Even in this fucked up world, kids still had to deal with the bullshit of being kids. One way or another she was going to learn about relationships.

But she didn't have parents. Her peers were idiots. Even if they weren't, she still would be unlikely to confide in them. As the object of her affection—however misplaced or shallow—it fell to him to administer that lesson. He wouldn't hurt her, of course, but maybe he could spook her such that she'd back off more quickly. Because he was confident that she wouldn't go through with it. Regardless of how damn . . . disarming she had been.

Levi didn't much care for being disarmed.

* * *

><p>"This <em>is<em> rather poor timing."

Levi cast an irritated stare at the wall behind Erwin.

"You couldn't have kept that to yourself for six more days?"

"Excuse me for being honest," said Levi, watching Erwin stretch his arms. "Thought of all people, you'd find it relevant."

The commander exhaled through his nose, considering. "Leave it for now. I'm willing to gamble that the situation won't change drastically over such a short period of time. And I'm less willing to execute this mission without you. I need you."

"Mmn, say it again," he deadpanned.

"I'm not kidding around here." Levi bristled at the sudden seriousness of his tone. It didn't sit well with him alongside . . . however the fuck many shots he'd had in . . . however long Erwin had been there. "Surely you've felt that something is different about this one."

"If I didn't before, then thank your subtle hints about my impending doom." He shrugged. "I just wasn't going to ask."

"Wise. Just be you, that's all I need."

"Ah, he said it again."

Erwin landed a light slap against the side of Levi's head as he rose from his seat, sending his vision spinning. "If you'll excuse me."

"That's it? Just forget about it?"

"For now. Speak with Hange once we return."

Levi pressed the side of his fist to his chest in an insincere, slightly drunken salute. "If I must. That's my motto."

One of Erwin's brows raised in suspicious amusement. "Thanks for the booze," he said as his huge frame disappeared through the door.

Levi hiccupped uncomfortably.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were, for Mikasa, a mess of fierce apprehension and will. Whenever he passed by she refused to look at him, but her eyes threatened to burst from the strain of trying to see him nonetheless. Yet the two of them continued about their business. He attended meetings, she sat with her classmates at meals; they went on patrol, they trained in the yard—concurrently, one day, which was uncomfortable. Eld was jogging together with him while she sparred with Eren and Reiner, surreptitiously tracking Levi's position along the perimeter for the better part of an hour. Neither addressed the other.

Though time passed uneventfully, he still showed signs of despondency. On multiple occasions she had seen members of his squad attempting to talk to him, nearly having to resort to shouting to gain his attention. The extra darkness under his eyes hadn't lifted, and he walked as if a great weight burdened his limbs. She didn't think it was the mission that troubled him; when asked about it he was fully engaged, his voice rich with authority and answers. At these times especially he didn't look unwell, so it didn't seem to be a physical issue. There was just something on his mind.

This scatterbrained disposition made him no less intimidating. When the third night rolled around, she was a stolid knot of nerves. She knew he wasn't expecting anything of her, but she'd made a promise, and dumb as it was, she was of a mind to keep it. Mikasa didn't like being underestimated.

She stood in the busy hallway after dinner, channeling him to keep calm—leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed—yet still feeling crazy. When she spotted him split off from his comrades, she slipped into the thinning crowd and followed at a distance. She had no illusions about surprising him; he certainly would know she was tailing him. But she did wish to maintain a semblance of discretion.

Levi refrained from acknowledging her until he reached the door to his quarters, which he held open to let her through, bowing sardonically. Immediately her temper spiked.

He moved to light the oil lamps while she stood by uneasily, hugging her arms against the room's chill. Even in such simple actions he commanded attention; the smooth uprightness of his back, the conservative movement of his solid frame, the tendons in his neck flickering in and out of sight. It was almost funny to watch such a powerful creature tame his strength to perform mundane tasks. It was like watching a mountain lion strike matches.

Once the globe had been placed back over the final oil lamp, his arms crossed against his chest.

He waited.

Mikasa's skin burned under the pressure of his stoic gaze. "Don't get the wrong idea," she mumbled.

He didn't move.

While the thought had admittedly consumed her, she hadn't come here to touch him again (though she wanted to, but she didn't want to). She had been most compelled to understand what was bothering him. Mikasa stepped forward, and he dropped his arms hesitantly, almost skittish. It felt strange, frightening, seeing him so unsure. "You still haven't told me what's wrong."

"I owe you nothing."

"Has anyone else even noticed?" He didn't answer, so Mikasa assumed not. "Maybe I am the only one who understands you."

"Don't be so conceited. It's not—"

She cut him off with an embrace, her arms secreted between his jacket and his shirt, dizzy with the light musky scent of his clothes. His arms came around her as well, though with little affection; it was probably just less awkward for him than standing there like a post.

Absently she listened to him ramble on without really registering the words, instead feeling them as vibrations in his chest: "Listen, it may seem that way, but you only know dopes your own age. Among them, yeah, maybe you're the only one. But adults with any sense understand me. And _they're_ busy with their own shit, they don't waste time trying to get—"

This time she silenced him with her mouth on his. She had no idea what she was doing anymore. The sensations in her body blurred her thought; the line between _I hate him_ and _I need him_ was fine, both positions fueled by the same passion.

Then it clicked—she didn't have to _like_ him to _want_ him.

At that her kiss became more assertive, and he responded in kind, a low sound like a growl emanating from his throat. They were a rush of hands and heavy breathing, jackets soon stripped away; when he gripped her hair more strongly than she liked, she stamped a foot and pressed hands to his chest, but instead of pushing him back she drew him in as though her palms were magnets. He started to advance, pressing the length of his body against hers, erasing all her thoughts like a splash of ink across printed words. She tested the limits of her daring, smoothing over every inch of his hair and neck and shirt and _damn_ it if that harness wasn't _always_ in the way. Surprisingly she had undone all the belts on his upper half before he tore himself away from her.

Levi stood back, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. He sniffed determinedly, grabbing handfuls of her jacket off the floor and shoving it into her chest. She barely caught hold of it before he let go. He'd been left a bit weak-kneed but was unperturbed by her savage glare. "Go on," he said, tilting his chin to the door.

In a mad whirl she left him again, still lacking the answers she'd wanted and more confounded than ever.

* * *

><p>Levi's hands balled as his door slammed shut; there had been a lot of that lately. He stepped close, staring hard at the heavy wooden slab as if to pick an argument, but turned around and rolled his shoulders against it to satisfy an itch through his shirt.<p>

That was way too fucking close. He thought if he rushed things forward, pressed too hard, she'd feel overwhelmed and panic. But the girl had only been emboldened, and he had almost lost himself.

His next approach would have to be more subtle.

* * *

><p>Even with the influx of new recruits, so few were their numbers and so spacious the old castle that they had been allowed the option to occupy their own rooms. Many had chosen to live with roommates anyway, accustomed as they were to each other and to sharing space. Though it meant inhabiting the dungeons, Mikasa was determined to share her living quarters with Eren.<p>

So within an hour of their arrival, she had gone straight to Levi.

"You think that will happen, huh."

He was leaning back in his chair in the basement mess hall, his soft, rolling voice echoing through its every dusky corner. Steam poured out from under his hand, flat atop a cup of tea. He looked almost serene. But Mikasa remembered. The phantom smell of Eren's blood on Levi's immaculate clothes left a snarl on her upper lip.

"You owe him that much," she said, "to let him be near someone that actually cares for him."

He huffed incredulously into his cup as he drank. "I've already given him his life, how much more does he deserve?"

"That's what you think, is it?"

He paused. "I see Shadis failed to teach you respect. Are all the new recruits so insubordinate?"

"Will you beat me into submission, too?"

"I really only find it's effective in front of an audience." It was sarcastic, but not without a hint of honest malice. Mikasa shuddered._  
><em>

"So you admit that your . . . _performance_ did your public image a great deal of good."

Levi shrugged. "Good PR is hard to come by in the Survey Corps. We take what we can get."

"Ah. So that's your excuse."

He leaned forward menacingly, and Mikasa found herself shrinking back in response. "The world isn't black and white, Ackerman. Many things led to what happened in that courtroom. Stop talking like you've found the one true reason for it all."

The captain's sudden spate of gravity proved that his general abrasiveness was a conscious choice—likely for no other reason than to rile people. He'd been working her. And she'd been letting him do it. Mikasa closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, silently. She hated this man, yes, but she needed his favor as well, so she would have to swallow her instinctive hostility. "Fine. But my request still stands."

"So does my denial."

"Why?"

"You truly need me to tell you why?"

"Just so we're clear," she said acerbically, already forgetting to curb her animosity.

His eyes floated upward, equally annoyed. "You're not on my squad, so you're not my responsibility."

"You won't have to take responsibility for me."

"I would if Eren fucked up and went berserker down here." She was silent. "You can't prove to me that he won't."

"I can take care of myself."

"You can't prove that either."

"I was first in my class."

"Don't care. I still can't give you special treatment."

"But he's my family." Mikasa barely heard her own words; the thought was enough. She blinked the heat back from her eyes, but she couldn't stop the quivering of her lips.

The truth was, this wasn't just for Eren's sake. She needed this. So great was the depth of her debt to him and so little did she have, standing by him was the only remuneration she knew. Mikasa was always filled with a blend of compulsions that vacillated between her honor-bound duty to Eren and her selfish need to repay him. The difference was subtle, and maybe not all that important. But maybe so. Was it selfish if it benefited him too? Did intent sully the deed? It was as Levi said: not all black and white.

His response now wasn't as quick, and he spoke more gently. "I understand. But he's the special one. Not you."

"That's not completely true," she argued, sniffling but relieved that she had a tangible point to contend. "When he 'fucks up', as you say, it's just as important for me to be there to talk him down and _avoid_ drastic measures that could kill him."

"About that," he said curiously. Her stomach jumped; he was calling her bluff. "I heard something interesting about what happened at Trost." He stared hard at her, waiting for her to falter, but she had seen his rebuttal coming and masked her gut reaction well enough. Seeing that she wouldn't relent on her own, he watched his palm pat the rim of the teacup, patiently, grating her with silence. The wound healing on her cheek tickled painfully. "You want to remind me what happened at Trost?"

Still, she wouldn't lie. "Not particularly."

"I didn't think so." He sat back again, comfortably sipping from under his hand. "I have no need for someone who fails at her self-proclaimed job, knowing that she'll do everything to obstruct my militarily-appointed job."

"Which is to kill our only asset—"

"_One_ extremely _variable_ asset." For a moment she heard _valuable_, but no, _variable_ was just as accurate. "You might not like it, but at least we know that drastic measures work every time. And I get the feeling he's not as irreplaceable as we all think, so I personally don't give a shit if he gets killed."

"Don't you think that's irresponsible?"

"God _damn_ it, do you take everything that comes out of my mouth at face value?" He exhaled shortly. "I _care_, but he's not my priority. Those are my orders, and I'm going to try to follow them as long as I can. But when things go to shit, by instinct I'm going to do what keeps my squad and my corps alive. I know their worth. I know their skills, I know their reactions and their loyalty. That makes them much more valuable to me than some kid I don't know with powers I don't understand."

"So you just fear what you don't understand."

"You fear me, don't you?"

She looked at him closely now; he was a jerk, and he was bad with people, but he understood them.

"I appreciate your concern," he said dismissively. "But no, you'll not live with my squad."

Mikasa stared at her feet, feeling very small and childish. She blinked several times before nodding stiffly.

"Furthermore—for your own good I suggest you loosen your ties to him." She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to stay her. "I'm not saying you have to quit him entirely. But know that _he_ doesn't determine your worth. If I've heard right, you have far more potential as a soldier than he does. That potential will never be realized until you can operate independent of him." He let the words settle in the echoes of the room, before speaking softly. "Do you understand?"

_Damn_, she thought. It all rang a little too true for comfort. Mikasa could hate him all she wanted, but he was every inch correct.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded grimly. "Yes sir." Sensing the discussion concluded, she turned to leave.

"One more thing," said Levi. "I advise you not to take a roommate at all." Irked, she pivoted to face him but was seized by the stark unhappiness gracing his curved brow. "If you plan on staying alive, get used to doing it alone."

* * *

><p>Reluctantly she had not only accepted his verdict that day, but also taken his advice. And Mikasa was now thankful for the privacy afforded by living alone, because when she returned to her room the night before the expedition, Levi was leaning next to the window with an air of great entitlement. A small table stood below the window, and one little candle was lit, a dim, phlegmy orange flickering across his pale clothes. Without the harnesses lashed across his lissome frame, he seemed naked. She blushed, which only compounded her anger at the fact of his unsupervised presence.<p>

"I'm surprised you're not snooping," she said, caustic.

He shrugged. "I didn't find anything interesting."

Mikasa closed her eyes, listening to the dry breaths in her throat to keep calm. "You really have no shame."

"That sounds odd, coming from you."

"At least I didn't sneak into your quarters while you were gone."

"And at least I haven't come to seduce you."

She reddened again at the thought of her behavior just the day previous; lately her mind had been slipping. She _hated_ that she wanted this man so badly, but she wasn't confident that she hated _him_ anymore. And she hated that too. "So you're breaking your promise?"

"Yes."

She watched him suspiciously. He showed no discomfort; he made no move, and his expression didn't change. Her oppressive glare sure didn't sway him. "Then why are you here?" she challenged. "There's no other reason—"

"I should say," he amended, "not exactly."

"What, then?"

"It's all up to you."

She felt her entire body alight with baffling embarrassment. She had already been putting the moves on him, and unabashedly; why did it feel impossible now that he'd said it?

Levi watched with a curious eye as she instead crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. Primly she folded her hands in her lap. With decisive authority, she told him, "You can't go on this mission."

His shoulders remained against the wall, but his head tilted. "Excuse me?"

"Something's wrong. You've been acting strange and I don't think you should go out there."

She kept her eyes low as he shifted his weight forward and approached, close, knees almost touching hers. His hands were on his hips, slim white fingers curled like honeysuckle. "Do you see anything wrong with me?"

"You're lying." She shook her head. She reached out and took his wrists, cupping the smooth backs of his hands in her palms. "You're lying."

He deflected her accusation, distracting her with hands at the sides of her neck, thumbs caressing along her jawline. For reasons she didn't understand, her stomach twisted at the sight of him looking down at her. He now stood with his knees pressing hers together; his head fell almost lazily toward her as he initiated a kiss. It was much softer than the day before, its tenderness fine-tuning her to feel the twitch of his lips on hers.

Her impatience flared again when he stopped, but he only went back to shut the door, slowly, the familiar sounds of it painfully loud in Mikasa's head; the long creak as it swung closed, the clatter of the mechanism catching.

Then he slid his shirt off over his shoulders—and he was far less _lean_ than she expected. The sinewy muscles across his stomach moved in careful concert as he stepped toward her again, and as the distance between them narrowed, countless scars slowly became visible all over the canvas of his skin, tiny ridges and valleys of shadow in the candle light.

In a moment it struck her that she wasn't dealing with one of her peers—boys who had not filled out as adults, whose strength lay in stamina, the simple vigor of youth—but with a _man,_ some stranger,whose strength lay in precise and seasoned skill. A man who had lived her life and over again.

He kissed her again, but this time she understood the weight of what came next. Suddenly she shrank away and hid her face. Levi's hands remained on her shoulders, but he didn't move otherwise. He stood there so calm and knowing that she wanted to pelt him with her fists, but she was too embarrassed to lift her head and she was crying and she just hated this so much. All she could do was lie down and let the tears come. She hardly noticed that he lay down behind her, hugging her to his scarred chest, because she was crying for the parents who loved her and Eren's parents and Eren and Levi and all their friends and this awful, terrible, sad world. She cried until the candle burned out, until she fell asleep to the gentle sensation of his breath on the back of her neck, the insistent heat of his arm across hers.

* * *

><p>Mikasa woke in the middle of the night and immediately sensed the absence beside her. A new candle had been lit; Levi was pulling his shirt back over his head. She sat up.<p>

"I'm coming with you," she stated.

"You're not."

Normally she might contest the assertion, but what he had said wasn't bitter, didn't snap; it was filled with such sincerity, his voice so low with knowing, that she felt herself go limp. He noticed, and sighed. "You have to take responsibility for your emotions."

She tensed a bit, refusing to make eye contact, so he sat back down next to her; slowly, as though his aches had been magnified in sleep. Her eyes widened at his effort and she opened her mouth to protest, but he held a finger to his lips; it affected her as though he had made contact with hers instead. He couldn't fight like this. He was too vulnerable, and he must have known it. _Why? Why can't you let me help you?_

"Because I'm not the one you're sworn to protect."

"But you'll be with Eren anyway. It's where I belong."

He was wearing a slight smirk, but it didn't match the sadness, the humility, in his eyes. "Just face it. You don't have room for me."

He stood again, and she felt like a fish gaping for water. His back still to her, he said, "Maybe one day. . . ." The words ended in a breathless exhale. She wanted so badly to hear the condition, the effect that it would have, but there was resignation in his whisper. "You'll have forgotten me by then."

What was this nonsense? Who alive would _ever_ forget Levi?

He parted the bangs over her face, leaned in, and gave her the gentlest kiss on the forehead before turning to leave her room for the first and last time.


End file.
